Notes from Barack Obama - Herblock Lecture

In April of 2005, I took the train to Washington, DC, looking forward to hearing Senator Barack Obama speak in person. Like so many others, I was captivated by his keynote at the 2004 Democratic National Convention. Even my father, who voted for Bush, conceded that Obama was impressive. “It’s too bad he’s not the candidate,” he said.

The event was the annual Herblock Prize Award Ceremony & Lecture. Herb Block, the former editorial cartoonist for The Washington Post, established the prize and lecture series in his will, as part of the Herb Block Foundation. The Foundation also funds grants and scholarships for students in financial need. Senator Obama was invited to speak, one of 300 such invitations he receives weekly, and his topic was the rising cost of secondary education.

Senator Obama has both a personal and professional interest in this issue. He relayed stories from students in his Illinois constituency, kids who have been forced to work one and two extra jobs to afford college. Other kids will not be able to attend college at all because the money is simply not there. And why should it be? With tuition costs rising at an average annual rate of 10%, the number of American families who can afford college is diminishing.

The Senator has two young children of his own. Coming home after the birth of his first daughter, he said the leading news story that night was the rising cost of higher education. A child born that year – in 2000 – would ultimately need $250,000 to get through school. Since he completed his own college education, Obama says tuition costs have increased 519%.

“When did the cost of an education stop being our problem? When did this issue take second place to Michael Jackson and Martha Stewart?” asked Obama. “In a generous America,” he said, “you don’t need to be rich to achieve your potential.”

When he began speaking, Senator Obama used a quote from Herb Block. It was something Mr. Block’s parents instilled in him as a young man and a guiding principle of his life and work. “Be a good citizen. Think about the other guy.” The great speaker that he is, Obama threaded this wonderful quote throughout his lecture, a nod to the person who’d made the night possible.

According to Jean Rickard, Executive Director of the Herblock Foundation, "Mr. Block saw education as a cornerstone for a better life. In his will he urged the creation of scholarships for post-secondary education for those with financial need. He wanted to give a chance to students who had successfully completed high school but found the cost of college out of their reach."

As the divide deepens between the haves and have-nots, the opportunity to pursue an education is the last thing we should be sacrificing. Herb Block and Senator Obama both believe strongly that education is essential to closing this divide. While I’d come to hear Senator Obama, I’d left with these words from Herb Block. “Be a good citizen. Think about the other guy.”

In his 2004 address, Senator Obama said, “It’s that fundamental belief – I am my brother’s keeper, I am my sister’s keeper – that makes this country work. It’s what allows us to pursue our individual dreams, yet still come together as a single American family. ‘E pluribus unum.’ Out of many, one.”

As the power changes hands in both the Senate and the House, I hope the Democrats will remember from whence we came. Forget the posturing and the back slapping. We are a country that has lost its way. Our fear and worry and stress have turned us against one another.

It’s time we all heeded Herb Block’s advice, “Be a good citizen. Think about the other guy.”

Pull My Finger - The Saga Continues

It turns out my finger may be swollen for a reason. My doctor called me tonight at 4:30 to tell me I had elevated levels of rheumatoid factor, the factor that determines a propensity toward rheumatoid arthritis. I'm thinking this is crap because I was just at the gym and felt fine but wow....that's just shit. Have you ever noticed how doctors always call you on a Friday with something like this? It's like they want you to spend your entire weekend bummed out.

I googled rheumatoid arthritis. Big mistake. On Wikipedia it says people diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis are unable to work within 10 years. I'm not sure if that means people who work in a circuit board assembly factory or all people. Like if you work as say an usher in a movie theater, tear tickets, point to theater number 2, then could I still work? Sure rug weaving or make-up artistry are out for me. But I was never really in so I guess I can deal.

About ten years ago I went to see an ophthalmologist referred by a client. He was her brother-in-law or some other loose affiliation. I went in to get my eyes checked, no big deal. So he comes in all jolly in his faux Southern way and takes a look. Gets noticeably more serious and takes another look. Serious again and then says I have swelling of the optic nerve. So I'm thinking take two aspirins and call me in the morning.

Nope. Referred me to Duke Medical Center toute de suite. Turns out swelling of the optic nerve is a sign of a brain tumor. So I sat through a CAT Scan and if you haven't done that you really should. Particularly for the hyper set like myself, it is something. You have to sit still for a long time, stuffed in a tube while an IV is running into your arm and you're hearing a loud banging like a jackhammer. Not like a good New York jackhammer where you're probably close to a great slice of thin crust pizza if you just follow the banging. A CAT Scan is really loud because you're basically strapped into an echo chamber, no pizza in sight.

Anyway, it turns out I just have a weird optic nerve and all is well. No brain tumor. So I'm hoping for more of the same. Misdiagnosis on a Friday. But it still scares the crap out of me. First of all rheumatoid arthritis is a disease that seriously limits motion. And anyone who knows me knows I am constantly in motion. I can't sit still. Then there is the whole fear of an early death because I have this sort of second wind timeline that involves my living at least another 30 years and joining the Peace Corps at 60. I'm not going to make it to Namibia at 60 if I'm disabled.

I know I said I was the Wile E. Coyote of my own life and I have various and sundry martyr tendencies. But I don't really want to die early or be disabled. I want another chance. I want to be grand and fat and old. I want to be like those two crazy British women who ate duck fat all the time. Regrettably one of them died early with good reason but I want all of that. I will have that.

I'm spinning at 9:45 tomorrow so screw you arthritis!

I am the Coyote, Goo Goo G'Joob

There are signs and then there are signs. Sometimes signs are left open to interpretation. Others, not.

Today I went to the doctor to have her look at my right index finger - the ultimate pull my finger gag I told my dad. It's been swollen for about two months, closer to three, but I always downplay my symptoms to the doctor. So the nurse takes a look, asks me if I hit something.

"No. I think I would remember that."

Then the doctor comes in. Same thing. Impressed with my swelling and she says, "You know you really are a hard on." I think she meant to say hardass but I can't speak for her.

So she says she's going to take some blood to check for Lyme disease and orders an X-ray to determine what's going on. Lyme disease was not on my list of self-diagnoses. I figured arthritis or something related to sitting in a chair all day typing.

She takes some blood and then applies a Band-aid. A Wile E. Coyote Band-aid. That was the sign, the one not left open to interpretation.

Sometime in the past couple of months, I came to the conclusion that I am the Wile E. Coyote and others in my life - not my husband because I shit talk him enough on this thing - are the Road Runner.

Exhibit A: I actually work with a client called Acme Corporation. This is not a joke.

Exhibit B: I am frequently plotting my ascension (to a perfect body, to the perfect job, to a smooth canvas of a face made possible by Restylane) only to have some bird come along and drop an anvil on my head.

Exhibit C: I once worked for Herb Block, the editorial cartoonist for The Washington Post and close friend of Chuck Jones, creator of the Coyote.

Exhibit D: My Band-aid.

I don't need to be hit over the head here. I get it. I am the Coyote. For now.

I read that Chuck Jones said, "Wile E. is my reality. Bugs Bunny is my goal." I'm not sure I agree with that or even understand it. Besides I've always liked that big Southern chicken character who runs around saying,"Well I DO declare." I think he's also tortured by another, lesser bird.

Anyway, I'm going to look for the next sign. It's going to be a good one. I can feel it. Oh wait, there's something in the sky. It's big and shiny. It looks like a star falling toward Earth. Uh oh. RUN!

I'll tell ya' that anvil prank never gets old.